


peter loves his job

by SalazarTipton



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Identity Porn, Identity Reveal, M/M, Mentions of Cancer, Original Female Character(s) - Freeform, Secret Identity, Stripper!Peter, Strippers & Strip Clubs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-01
Updated: 2020-06-01
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:07:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24494761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SalazarTipton/pseuds/SalazarTipton
Summary: Okay, nobody knows what he’s doing for money besides the side-gig with pictures for J.J. Jameson when things get tight, but that doesn’t mean he’s ashamed of it. When he’s up on the stage holding the whole room in his grasp he feels amazing. He just doesn’t want to hear everyone else’s thoughts about it.Peter Parker is a stripper. So?
Relationships: Peter Parker/Wade Wilson
Comments: 18
Kudos: 141





	peter loves his job

**Author's Note:**

> this is a work in progress! i don't update my stuff on any sort of schedule. if that bothers you, maybe just wait until it's completed? :)

Peter loves his job. He may not talk about it. He might have still not told Aunt May, MJ, or Ned what he’s really been doing every Wednesday and Sunday night. Okay, nobody knows what he’s doing for money besides the side-gig with pictures for J.J. Jameson when things get tight, but that doesn’t mean he’s ashamed of it. When he’s up on the stage holding the whole room in his grasp he feels _amazing_. He just doesn’t want to hear everyone else’s thoughts about it. 

Peter Parker is a stripper. So?

If anything, this career choice makes the most sense for him! With limited hours he can still make enough to pay rent at the end of the month and not worry about having to miss classes for it. It makes more time for his web slinging activities and getting his education. And his boss is used to working around weird hours since most of his coworkers have obligations like school and family and other jobs. For once, he’s not singled out for suddenly needing to switch shifts with someone because something came up a.k.a. another baddie decided it was their time to shine. 

Plus, his spidey powers come in pretty handy on the pole and having the energy to keep going when another twenty hits the table after he was five minutes past wanting to be done with this lap dance already. (It also helps in keeping the assholes in line that think he owes them something.)

When people ask what he does, he sticks with the socially acceptable answers: a student, freelance photographer, solo geek squad dude for all your Starkphone needs. If anyone bothered to look under the surface they’d realize there’s no way he could keep up with his bills and his freaky metabolism with so little income. Sometimes when Aunt May asks over dinner how work is, how life is going, how the adulting is going he thinks she knows something’s off from the look in her eye, but she never pushes and just accepts his okay enough answers at face value. Which he’s grateful for (most of the time). 

At work, on some levels, he can just let himself go. He’s not worried about bad guys and saving people. He doesn’t have to hold up the expectation of him being a good role model. He can let his morals loosen a little, swear up a storm if he feels like it, and just exist without all the damn pretense. 

Twice a week, Peter gets to have something that is just for him. 

* * *

“Hey Peaches! How’s the floor tonight?”

His eyes flick in the mirror from his face to the doorway where one of his coworkers is coming in, shedding her coat. He continues rubbing a makeup wipe over the glitter on his cheeks as he answers her. 

“Pretty spicy. Watch out for the ballcap in Dazzle’s area. He’s giving off some bad vibes,” he answers her easily. 

“Thanks, kiddo. I gotta get ready. Get an Uber home, okay? It’s pourin’ out there.” She ruffles his hair as she passes behind him towards her stall. 

Peter steps outside and scrunches his nose up at the sky, frowning at the rain. Looks like he’s in for a long, cold night of patrolling. Maybe he could cut it short a few hours and get home early enough to soak in the tub for a while and get warm enough to feel like a person again. He daydreams about the bubble bath in his future as he walks down the sidewalk towards a safe spot he knows about to change into his suit. He’s so caught up in suds-y thoughts that he doesn’t realize he’s being followed for two blocks, when his Spidey Sense finally comes on line. 

He takes the opportunity waiting at a corner to stretch and look behind himself just long enough to see who it is: ballcap from the booth. Peter curses to himself. Why do the creepy ones always zero-in on him? He continues on his path hoping the guy will make his move sooner-rather-than-later. Walking in circles for a few hours would be a real waste of time, and his shoes are already squelching from the rain. 

Peter passes by his changing spot and huffs. This is going on too long. He rounds the corner and stops once he’s out of sight. Fifteen seconds he waits until the creeper steps into view. 

“What was the plan?”

“Wha-huh?” the guy eloquently stutters out. 

“The plan. You know, what was the goal of following me from work for blocks on end? Find out where I live? Jump me?” Peter asks. 

The man looks around the street for a minute before turning to Peter. He looks over his small frame drowning in the hoodie he swiped from Wade’s place a few weeks ago and smirks. 

“What’s wrong, kitten? You didn’t seem to mind my attention earlier.” 

Peter wants to gag. _Kitten?_

“Hey, dick for brains!” The man tenses and looks over Peter’s shoulder. His face goes white. It takes Peter a second, but then it clicks. _That voice…_

“Oh come on,” Peter mutters under his breath before stepping away from the creeper to confirm his suspicions. Sure enough, there’s Wade in all his red and black, gun-wielding glory. If Peter didn’t know him so well, he would be terrified just like the creeper cowering behind him. Instead, he’s peeved. Peter can defend himself.

“If I see you at my work again, following me or any of my coworkers, you’ll wish I left you for Deadpool to deal with,” Peter says to the man. He’s frozen against the bricks, eyes flicking from Peter to Deadpool and back. They both ignore Deadpool squee-ing about Peter knowing who he is to himself, or most likely to the boxes. 

“That’s probably your queue to run, douche nozzle,” Wade chimes in helpfully. 

The guy siddles away from Peter before bolting around the corner backwards, too afraid to give them his back (rightfully so). Peter rolls his eyes and picks up his backpack from where he dropped it when he turned on that asshole. Just another night in New York. 

“I had him, you know.”

“Yeah, you did, but maybe I just wanted an in to talk to the pretty boy with a violent streak. You consider that?” 

Peter rolls his eyes, but can’t help the smile turning up the corners of his lips. 

“You do realize how sleazy that comes off, right? Pretend to swoop in to save the damsel, but really just wanna get in their pants. A little hypocritical, don’t you think?” Peter scoffs, pushing himself off of the brick to keep going down his path. He’s had enough action tonight and he’s starting to shake from his wet, cold clothes. Unfortunately, Wade steps into stride right beside him. 

“Don’t compare me to that douche! I’d never follow someone like that—well, I’d follow them for a job, but that’s different.”

“Is it?”

“Hell yeah, baby boy! Tracking down a baddie for a payday is waaaay on the proper side o’ things compared to following a dancer home. That shit’s despicable.”

“I never said I was a dancer.”

Wade shrugs at him. “I’ve spent enough time with strippers to know a thing or two. Who else can go from dopey and cute to cutting so quick I wanna come in my pants?”

Peter can’t help the soft laugh that spills out of him. The sound seems to brighten Wade’s mask somehow, like he’s projecting his feelings into the actual fabric. 

“If you want to seem like a non-douche, maybe let me walk home on my own.”

“If I do I’ll probably never see you or that fine ass again!”

“The Dollhouse. 7 p.m. on Wednesday.” Peter says before his brain can catch up with his words. “That is, if it’s really my ass you wanna see, since I don’t date clients.”

Deadpool freezes in place like a robot rebooting. Peter takes the moment to give him a pat on the shoulder before continuing on towards his apartment. He’s across the street before he hears Wade calling after him.

“I’ll do whatever you want for that ass, baby boy! See you Wednesday!”

He doesn’t think Wade would try following him, but Peter still ducks into an alleyway a few blocks down and gets his suit on so he can swing home. Besides, it’s a hell of a lot faster than walking or taking the subway and this rain is seriously bothering him. Spiders don’t thermoregulate making Peter ready to take the longest, hottest bath of his life. 

* * *

Peter bends backwards with his leg hooked around the pole and a hand supporting him until he’s nearly upside down. His eyes catch the fluttering of bills hitting the stage to his right. He goes to throw his tipper a sly smile and stutters when he sees exactly who it is. He was half convinced Wade wouldn’t show. The guy doesn’t have the best memory with the brain cancer and blowing his head to bits all the time so he half worried, half hoped his comment about coming to his set would slip through the fissures in his head. 

His smile grew into a real grin when their eyes met. It’s nearly overwhelming. He’s not used to really seeing Wade’s eyes and his expression. Most of their time together is masked (completely on Peter’s part) except for the random costume malfunction or explosion tearing it to shreds. Even when they’re just eating on a rooftop, they both only pull their masks up enough to eat. He had no idea Wade’s eyes were so bright. 

Peter unhooked his leg, supporting himself on his arm and hand alone for a split second while he adjusted to reach down to the stage and pick up the bills perpendicular to the ground. He slides the fifties across his chest, up to his abs, until tucking them into his shimmering booty shorts. Wade looks so dazed at the movement that Peter wouldn’t be surprised if he started drooling. 

In a fluid motion along with the tempo of the song, Peter pulls himself upright and corkscrews around in a slow twirl, stretching in a slow grind to bring everyone’s attention to his gold package. When he hits the stage on his knees, there’s another fluttering of cash around him. Looks like Wade’s generosity loosened the pursestrings of a few of the lookie-loos. G-d Bless Wade Wilson. 

Peter crawls on his knees to one of the bills in front of his partner in crime fighting and picks it up with his teeth. Wade fucking winks at him. He blushes. And thanks to his horrible luck, Wade notices. His eyes filt down to his now pink cheeks and smirks at him. 

This is _not_ what he was expecting. Not even close, ‘kay thanks. Peter figured he’d get flirty and filthy on stage, Wade would tip a little and try to talk to him after. Instead, Wade fucking winked at him, got the guys that _never tip_ to open their wallets and cheer Peter’s undulations along. Focusing on his routine and giving the right people attention has never been this difficult. _Fucking Wade Wilson!_

Peter lives through his set earning more than all he’s received in tips since he started at The Dollhouse in one performance. 

“Peaches, damn! Who’s the whale?” 

“He, uh...he’s a friend,” Peter says as more of a question than a statement. Dazzle raises an eyebrow at him. 

“Honey, if you got yourself a sugar daddy there’s no need to lie. Get that money!” She pulls him into a quick, tight hug getting his gold glitter all mixed in with her unicorn colors. She kisses his hair in a big, showy smooch and smacks his ass before heading out for her own set. 

He flops back into his chair and starts pulling money out of his waistband. He’s too afraid to count it, but his mind doesn’t listen and does the math for him anyway. “Guess I don’t hav’ta worry about rent this month,” he whispers to himself, not completely convinced he isn’t dreaming right now. 

He organizes the bills and tucks them into the hidden section of his backpack where he keeps his suit, mask, and the phone Mr. Stark gave him for superhero stuff. He gets along fine with his coworkers, but things going missing in the dressing room wouldn’t be anything new. He touches up his makeup, fixes his hair, and tugs on the white mesh shirt that he stripped off on stage before heading out onto the floor for the second half of his shift. 

**Author's Note:**

> i would looooove to hear what you think! where do you think this is going? what do you wanna see?  
> thank you so much for reading <3  
> find me on [tumblr](http://creaturejaskier.tumblr.com)


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